


Shut up, already.

by childhood_ruins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Bottom Peter Parker, Consensual Sex, Crying, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Kinky Peter Parker, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really Kinky Peter Parker, Safewords, Spit As Lube, Voyeurism, slight banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childhood_ruins/pseuds/childhood_ruins
Summary: Kinky Spiderio sex. That’s it. Questionably safe, barely sane, but, hey! It’s consensual.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	Shut up, already.

Peter lay down on the bed, naked, face-up, and legs spread, just the way Quentin liked it. He stared into the ceiling, holding on for the moment Quentin would step in and fuck him. Seconds of silence dragged on, and Peter got tired of waiting. He listened to figure out if he was alone, and, hearing nothing, he snaked his hands around his dick and started to jack off.

Peter began with simple hand movements, but quickly thrust himself into his grasp. He let out a low whine. Pleasure built at the base of his half-erect cock, slowly growing harder.

His spider-senses prickled. He was being watched. 

“Mr. Beck,” Peter moaned lightly, still stroking himself. “It’s rude to stare.”

“It’s also rude to touch yourself on your host’s bed, Mr. Parker.”

Peter grinned. “If this is you as a host, I’d hate to see you as a kidnapper. Mmph!” Quentin forced Peter’s hands above his head and pinned his wrists to the bed. 

“I’d hate to have to _be_ a kidnapper,” Quentin growled. Still holding Peter’s wrists in place, Quentin knelt over him, also naked. He caressed Peter’s face with his other hand, drawing a touch-hungry moan out of him. Peter took his fingers into his mouth and sucked.

“Can we uthe weal lube, Mr. Beck?” Peter mumbled around Quentin’s fingers. “Pleathe? I know you’ve got some, pluth spit dwieth out way too quickly.”

Quentin’s voice softened. “If you’re a good boy for me, baby, I’ll consider it next time.”

Peter let out a soft whine, but didn’t protest further. He worked Quentin’s fingers with his tongue. After a few moments, Quentin pried Peter’s mouth as far open as it could go; like he was a dentist, and Peter was a scared kid who didn’t want to be there. High-pitched—almost baby-like—moans slipped out of Peter’s gaping mouth.

Quentin slipped his fingers out from Peter’s mouth, and pushed his cock in their place. “Legs up,” he ordered, to which Peter folded his lower body upwards, and wrapped his legs around Quentin’s torso.

Quentin brought his hand behind himself to where Peter’s ass was. He hummed as he teased the rim of Peter’s hole with slick-coated fingers.

“Eh,” Peter groaned around his dick. “P’, eh! Pu’ ih eh!” Damn Quentin’s massive schlong that made it impossible to talk. “Pu’ ih eh!”

“You want me to put it in?”

Peter nodded. “Mm, mmhm!” 

Quentin spanked Peter. “Slut. You didn’t even say ‘please.’”

He panted out a desperate noise, but couldn’t form sounds past the P. 

“Hmm. I can’t hear you,” Quentin teased. “You must not want me to fuck you.”

Peter whined sharply into his dick. He broke his hands free from Quentin’s grip, and clasped them together in a non-verbal beg. 

Quentin flinched in the moment between Peter breaking free and Peter begging, because Peter giving Quentin hell for playing games wouldn’t be uncalled for. He obliged and forced three fingers into Peter’s asshole. 

Peter moaned between Quentin’s cock and his fingers, his face starting to hurt from his girth. Quentin spread Peter’s ass as far as he could push it before balling his hand into a fist and kneading into it with his knuckles. A squeak left Peter’s mouth.

Quentin managed to work his whole fist into Peter’s ass, forcing him to whimper. 

“Que’in,” Peter moaned as tears started to burn the corners of his eyes. “Bi- big. S’too big.”

“Oh, you fucking beg for me, then complain when I do what you want? Ungrateful little whore.” Despite his bitching, Quentin stopped. Peter waited a few moments before adjusting himself on Quentin’s fist, but it didn’t get any more comfortable.

Peter gave Quentin the biggest puppy eyes he could manage before slowly shaking his head, “no.” Quentin gave him a short nod, and he pulled his fist out. A moan of relief left Peter’s mouth.

Quentin gave him a moment to recover before piping up again. “Now, if his royal fucking highness doesn’t have any objections…”

Peter rolled his eyes. 

Quentin pulled out of Peter’s mouth and hovered over his ass, purposefully moving slowly enough for Peter to say “no” if he wanted to. 

Peter licked his lips of Quentin’s taste and looked up at him. “God, fuck me already.”

Quentin smirked. “On your face.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter turned over and brought his knees underneath himself, lifting his ass to give Quentin easy access.

Peter made minecraft ghast noises as Quentin buried his shaft deep inside. “Hhhhah~” he moaned. “Fuck, Mr. Beck.”

The coarse heat of Quentin’s dick drained the sass from Peter, leaving only a boneless, moaning mess. 

“Use me,” he whimpered. “Oh, sir, fuck me.”

Quentin thrusted steadily, but slower than Peter wanted. He worked Peter’s hole until his flesh fit his manhood like a glove. Peter let out a soft whine. Satisfied with his teasing, Quentin pulled back almost completely, then rammed into Peter like a bullet train. 

Peter sank his teeth into the sheets to keep from crying out. He held on for dear life as Quentin fucked him, slow, then fast, then slow, then fast, driving him senseless. “Harder,” he begged, the words spilling out before he could filter them. “Please, daddy, harder.”

Quentin and Peter both froze. A blush flushed Peter’s skin red, and he dropped his face into the sheets. Quentin exhaled. “Peter,” he said flatly, “say that again.”

“Fuck you,” Peter muttered.

Quentin yanked him by his hair. “That was an order, brat.”

Peter whimpered. “Harder… daddy.” 

“That’s my babyboy.” Quentin pet Peter. “No more of this ‘Mr. Beck’ shit, alright, baby?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good boy. Now, what do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me, daddy. Fuck me until I bleed.”

Quentin leaned in close and sent shivers down Peter’s spine. “I like the sound of that, baby.”

God, this was a clusterfuck.

Quentin abandoned his gentle rhythm and replaced it with the pace of a jackhammer. Raw, dry, and hotter than hell, Peter received Quentin’s merciless cock. He let himself moan freely, unable to stifle it further.

“Daddy!” Peter cried. “Oh, daddy, yes!” Pain blurred lines with pleasure, and tears of ecstasy or injury blotted out his vision. He clawed at the sheets, shaking from the stimulation. “Deeper, daddy, deeper!” 

The more Quentin pounded, the more pre-cum oozed into Peter’s hole. Whether he was bleeding or having his insides painted with Quentin’s essence was anybody’s guess—but both would be the only right answer.

Quentin sank his teeth into Peter’s neck hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh, daddy~” Peter moaned as his blood trickled down onto the sheets. “Mark me up~ M-make me bleed like you did in London!”

Quentin shoved Peter’s face into the sheets, before yanking his hair to the side.“You want it that badly, cockslut?” Peter nodded a moan. “Then beg for me, baby.”

“Oh, papa~ Hurt me sir, please! I need you- need you to punish me.” Hot tears streaked Peter’s face from the pain, yet he still whined, “I’ve been so, so bad, daddy~ Make me bleed all over your pretty white sheets~”

“Fuck, babyboy,” Quentin grunted. “I knew you had issues, but this is new.” 

“S-shut up and break me already!”

Quentin bit the back of Peter’s neck—not giving him hickies, biting him. Hot, sweet blood bubbled up out of the bites. 

Peter moaned weakly, “ _Daddy_.”

Quentin held Peter’s hips, biting his shoulder. “You know, Peter, you’ve been acting like such a brat, baby.” He slowed his thrusting pace.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Peter choked back a sob. “‘m sorry, daddy.”

“Aw, don’t cry, babyboy.” Quentin nuzzled Peter’s neck. He whispered into his ear, “Or else I’ll _give_ you something to cry about.”

Peter gasped and pushed tears from his eyes. Within moments, he sobbed openly, succumbing to the stinging pain in half his body. 

“Slut.” Quentin swatted his ass. Peter choked.

“Wait—ah! Pomegranate!”

Quentin’s disposition snapped from demeaning to concerned. He took his hands off of Peter. “Are you okay? Do you need me to pull out?” A drone floated into the room with a cup of water and a first-aid kit on its back.

“Yes. No—well, I, I wanna face you.”

“Alright. I’m pulling out now, is that okay?” 

Peter nodded.

Slowly, as to not hurt him, Quentin slipped himself out of Peter. A blood and pre-cum mixture slicked his shaft. Peter turned over and backed himself into the wall for support. He hiccuped from sobbing. Tear stains that were hidden earlier sat on full display, marking Peter’s flushed face up and down.

Quentin’s overwhelming urge to wipe Peter’s tears was met only by the guilt of being the one to cause them. 

Peter got the cup of water from the drone, and he sipped at it, eyes lowered into the glass. He and Quentin sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Quentin?” 

Quentin looked at Peter with caring puppy eyes. “Yeah?”

Peter took a deep breath. “Can you not do the spanking thing, man?”

Not really what Quentin was expecting but alrighty.

Peter continued, “I mean, I dunno if you think it’s, like, sexy or something, but—I dunno, Quentin—it just feels weird. And like, everything else is fine, but the spanking kinda comes out of left field- why are you laughing?”

Quentin dropped his head with a relieved smile. “God, I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Well, you bruised my dignity by making me call you daddy, so don’t think you’re off scot-free, mister.” 

“Come on, Peter. If you really didn’t wanna call me daddy, you wouldn’t have gotten so deep into the role, and you know it.” 

Peter crossed his arms, and Quentin smirked. He’d won this round.

“Wait, hold on.” Peter crawled closer to Quentin. “You’ve got a bit of my blood on your lips, babe.” He looked at Quentin, and Quentin looked at him. A sly smile quirked at the corners of Peter’s lips. 

“What, do you want it back?” Quentin teased.

Peter pinned him to the bed, giggling. “Oh my God, shut up.” Before Quentin could say something dumb, Peter dove down onto his mouth. He sucked on his bottom lip. “Quentin,” Peter hummed. 

“Mmm?” 

“No spanking.”

Quentin smiled and rolled Peter over, positioning himself on top of him. “No spanking.”


End file.
